


Hide Your Love

by pepperminteeth



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Bittersweet, Established Relationship, F/F, Forced Marriage, It's a Maid AU, Master/Servant, Pillow Talk, Secret Relationship, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:35:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22142650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepperminteeth/pseuds/pepperminteeth
Summary: "Classic Opera fare. A tragic love story. A princess who falls in love with a handsome commoner. But our princess, she carries the fate of her country on her shoulders... And no matter how in love she is, she can't just marry whoever she wants... Or can she?"__AU where Dorothea is a servant for House Galatea and has a secret relationship with the Count's Crest-bearing daughter.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Ingrid Brandl Galatea
Comments: 2
Kudos: 64





	Hide Your Love

Dorothea lies on her side and watches the rain patter on the window against the dark of the night. It sounds like a muffled tune, and normally the maid woman would choose to hum along if it weren’t for her mind being far off. She heaves a heavy sigh and drags her fingers against the expensive silk sheets, admiring the cool sensation against her skin. It is always the same mocking thoughts plaguing her these past moons. Well, at least when she lied beside her lover it was.

“When will you tell your father about us, my dearest Ingrid?” When she finally speaks her voice is honeyed and her plump lips are twisted into a taunting grin. She takes a tangled curl of chestnut hair and tucks it behind her ear.

Even in the meekest luminesce the candles gave off, Dorothea could still see the whites of Ingrid’s hooded eyes expand and her features twist into befuddlement. The muscular elegance of the noble’s leg slides against her own as she sits up from the bed, letting the luxurious covers fall to bunch up at her navel and leaving her bare torso exposed. Dorothea quirks her brow but remains sullen as the other ignores her question. Her long fingers reach out to skate against the iridescent skin of her stomach and she must fight the urge to ravish her once more over having this conversation. She reluctantly chooses the latter. Ingrid’s lip twitches and she scratches the side of her nose.

“Always blunt, aren’t you?” She mumbles, more to herself than Dorothea. As much as the noble would loathe to admit it, she has the right to state the matter. Creeping affection in the shadows with chaste kisses and ghostly touches. To swear their hearts and bodies to one another every nightfall, only for the bright of day to spill and forcing their facades once more was enough for some emotional dysphoria. It was enough for madness, even. Ingrid lets out another sigh and leans down to press a kiss to the maid’s lips, only for her to turn her head in disdain and let out a huff.

“You didn’t answer my question, now.”

“That is because you _know_ the answer, Dorothea.” She says tartly, sitting back upright and folding her arms. Stubbornness, it runs deep in both women. Dorothea looks scornful as she shifts underneath the covers.

“Then I will keep asking until I get the answer I want. Now, why do you refuse to tell the Count about us?” Her voice is tight but she speaks with a softer edge when Ingrid shoots her an equally irritated look. “Surely keeping all of this behind closed doors discomforts you in _some_ way.”

Being ethical never fancied Dorothea, in the bedroom and out. She knew why and refused to accept it, no matter how fruitless that was. Being Count Galatea’s only child to bear a Crest put immense pressure on Ingrid to find a suitor to bare children with, and Dorothea could not provide that. It lights a fire in her stomach and she wishes she could use that searing hatred to burn Galatea to ashes, but she would never even if she had the power. The Count was a kind man, just very inconsiderate of his daughter’s feelings.

Dorothea purses her lips and throws off the covers haphazardly, rolling off the bed and stretching her bare form with a soft _crack_ of her spine. Her feet patter softly against the stone flooring as she makes her way to Ingrid’s side of the bed. Eyes always so leering and sharp, tearing through anything and everything that dare stand in her way. The deep flame in the gorgeous olive of her iris burns at Ingrid as well, however she knows that the anger wasn’t meant for her. Was she just so bitterly tick-headed, or was it just means of protection to be so defiant? Perhaps both.

Ingrid scrunches her nose upward and swings her legs over the side of the bed to bump knees with the other woman.

“I think titles are superficial.” She hums, standing up to let her lips drag against the column of Dorothea’s neck. The brunette doesn’t stir, only replying in that odd lilt of her words that was ever so transfixing. Ingrid loved that beautiful voice of hers, only this time it rang sour in her ears.

“You seem quick to put titles on you and me, however. Servant. Noble. Is that not _superficial_?”

“Do _not_ get cross with me over things I have no control over!” Ingrid snaps, pushing herself away from her lover and lying back down on the bed. Her back is towards Dorothea. 

Status. The thought of it scorches in the back of Dorothea’s throat and makes her grit her teeth and dig her nails into her palms. Calloused and rough were her hands, bearing years of maid-work and frivolous labor. They showed of a commoner—a _peasant_ , a hand that was unfit to be laced with the sculpted padding of Ingrid’s. Even after years of wielding a lance they still were the soft, pale hands of nobility. She hates it. She hates that she cannot give Ingrid children, nor has no dowry to offer. She hates Crests and their importance amongst the elite.

Above all, Dorothea hates that Ingrid isn’t allowed to choose her own fate.

The maid chews on her bottom lip and groans under her breath, kneeling on the bed and giving Ingrid’s shoulder a gentle shake. The other welcomes the touch, surprisingly, and rolls onto her back into Dorothea’s embrace. She gives her dearest Ingrid a soft kiss to her temple before she lowers her head to rest at her chest, listening for the steady drum of her heart. The softest, most monotonous sound that she loves to believe beats for her and her alone. A selfish and materialistic thought indeed, but it is just the minimum she needs to know that she will always be Ingrid’s.

As long as that flat beating is still behind her breast, Dorothea would be hers.

A peaceful quiet falls like a blanket through the room for a while. The candles lick at the walls and make the shadows flicker around them, and the rain still pours. Ingrid brings her hands to rest on the fey woman’s back, massaging circles into her skin without rhythm. So much to say, yet a tongue not trained well enough to muster it. She wants to tell her that she is sorry, that she cherishes her and doesn’t care about her father’s wishes and will run away come tomorrow with Dorothea at her hip. But her jaw remains stiff. She can’t promise that to Dorothea, no matter how much she wishes she could.

“You’re freezing.” Is what she says instead, as she feels the other’s skin bump up underneath her touch.

“I’m perfectly fine.” Dorothea says and she buries her face against Ingrid’s chest. Both knew it was an unconvincing fleet, but Dorothea could never go down without a fight regardless how redundant the circumstance. Ingrid rakes a hand up the woman’s side and settles her hand lazily on the maid’s chin. She runs a thumb over her frown and presses a lingering kiss to her nose.

Her stubbornness is her armor. No respect did Dorothea bare, no prestige. Only a silver tongue and a dagger look to verse herself against the world. It isn’t right, and it shatters Ingrid’s heart.

Dorothea lets her mouth fall ajar and presses it to the other’s throat, slightly scraping her teeth against the down feather skin until they overlap on her lover’s lips. Sweet, laced with wine and the feel of the cold and it sends an electric current through Dorothea’s body. Before Ingrid could prod her tongue or snake an arm upward, the brunette parts with a soft _pop_ and a devilish smile dangles at the corners of her lips. Any chance this woman had to tease, she would pounce on.

“No matter. I could always be your servant at your husband’s estate. Although, it’ll be difficult to make love to you with him sleeping in the same bed.” Her laugh is bitter, but both are far too tired of arguing in circles to comment further. Instead Ingrid humors the other with a fake smile and a brush of her mouth against Dorothea’s. She brings her arms down to the curve of the other’s waist and wraps around her snugly. The noble hums a songless tune as she brings her palms to rub down the curve of the other’s back; feeling the ridge of her spine, the dimples on her lower back, and teasingly skating over Dorothea’s perked rear before pulling her up by the hips and peppering kisses all over the maid’s cheeks. Dorothea loves how strong she is. Ingrid’s skin tickles at the lick of the other’s long lashes as she twists her head to press a kiss at the shell of the noble’s ear.

“When will you tell him?”

Ingrid brings her nose to brush against Dorothea’s and breathes. “When I find the words, I will tell him.” Dorothea chuckles at this, closing her eyes and shaking her head. A genuine, warm smile spreads across her face and Ingrid’s heart flutters.

“It’s funny, I’m a servant who doesn’t know when to be silent, and you’re a noble who can’t speak up for herself.” She places a kiss to Ingrid’s cheek. “I guess status doesn’t define, only burdens.”

Before Ingrid has space to reply Dorothea rolls off her body and back under the covers with her face hidden, leaving the room to fall silent until the next night of their affair. Ingrid sighs and rises from the bed to snuff the candles, watching the shadows diminish from the walls and the body of Dorothea blur into a dark smudge in the black of the chamber. Yes, one day she will find the words.

But for now, she will work on saying ‘I love you.’

**Author's Note:**

> Title is based off of the song "Hide" by Rainbow Kitten Surprise. Thank you for reading and be sure to check out my other works!


End file.
